


Number Seven

by quartetship



Series: Number Seven [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cheerleader Jean, Cheerleader/Jock AU, Football Player Marco, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:18:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2217177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is an extremely sweet jock, Jean is an extremely salty cheerleader, and sometimes settings don't matter...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number Seven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dappercoffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dappercoffee/gifts).



> This was a gift for - and totally inspired by the ideas of - the lovely Bird, who mentioned high school football player Marco and cheerleader Jean, and I couldn't help but write this.
> 
> Originally posted to a very warm reception on tumblr - hope you guys enjoy it here, too!
> 
> UPDATE: [Now gorgeously illustrated](http://quartetship.tumblr.com/post/101953620949/thcrsthry-i-dont-give-a-shit-im-wearing-it) by the incredible [Gia](http://thcrsthry.tumblr.com/). GO. BEHOLD THE BEAUTY.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, commenting, kudos, etc. You're all the greatest! :)
> 
> \--

_Crickets beginning their song. The faint buzzing of fireflies. The echo of cheers from people who had long since gone home..._

Shitty cell service reception and the fallout from a caffeine high.

Jean stood with his back to the wall of the admissions booth of his high school's football stadium. Still in his track pants and with his green and silver vest tossed over his shoulder, he waved at the other cheerleaders as they left, until he was the last member of the squad still loitering in the stadium. The staff had long since gone, coaches and athletic directors locking doors and turning off lights as they left the field houses empty. It had been another win for the Titans, and another Friday night of screaming at the top of his lungs and pretending it was for the entire team. An empty stadium was something he looked forward to - no crowds, no noise, no snide remarks about him being the only guy on the squad. It also meant time alone with the only football player he actually gave a shit about.

On his way to find that particular player, he bumped into one of the last people to leave every weekend - and one of his least favorite people to see - the annoyingly well-liked water boy with the amusingly quick temper. Jean had promised himself he wouldn't start anything on an otherwise peacefully post-game night, but Eren Jaeger's glare was definitely pointed in his direction, and in Jean's mind, that totally counted as him starting something.

"Past your bedtime, isn't it Jaeger?" he spat as they passed each other. When Eren rolled his eyes, Jean bumped their shoulders together, hard.

"What's your problem?" Eren growled, rubbing at his arm. "Worn out from all the backflips? Or just cranky from screaming yourself _hoarse_?" He spat the last word out and glowered. Jean returned the sneer and folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the stone wall of the concessions building.

"Tired from lifting hot chicks in the air by the ass, but that's every Friday night for me. You have fun watching the good time from behind everyone's ass on the sidelines?"

Eren snorted. "Like any of those girls would even talk to you without the megaphone."

"Whatever you say, man. Hey, too bad your sister isn't on the squad. She'd look pretty good up in the air."

_Bingo._

Eren scowled like a madman and looked like he might launch himself at Jean. Jean tried not to laugh out loud.

"Screw off, Jean!" Hearing Eren's voice topping out at a raspy scream, Armin - one of Jean and Eren's few mutual friends and Eren's sometimes wrangler - crossed the short distance to where they stood and chimed in, trying to extinguish the situation.

"Eren, c'mon. There's no reason to fight; you'll only get yourself suspended." He tugged on Eren's arm and began pulling him away. Jean snickered.

"Listen to your boyfriend, Eren. He's a lot smarter than you."

Eren flipped him off but followed Armin anyway, grumbling as they left the stadium. Jean watched them leave, willing the tension to leave his body as the field finally went dark. Turning to walk back toward the abandoned bleachers, he laughed to himself over how easy it was to push Eren's buttons, and tried as usual not to dwell on what the repercussions might be. Why the fuck should he care anyway, especially tonight? He had much better things to think about.

Somewhere farther under the bleachers, hiding in the dark was the reason he always stayed late after games, and he could hear that reason humming quietly to himself in the stillness of the August evening.

He quickened his pace and headed for the sound, already grinning from one ear to the other.

\--

"Hey, loser," Jean shouted, spotting Marco perched on a support beam beneath the bleachers. He was wearing his navy blue team sweats, slung low on his hips under a white shirt, so that Jean could see the faintest glimpse of dark, freckled skin. When Jean was sure they were alone, he dropped his voice - and his cocky grin - and sidled up next to him, unabashedly _staring_. "Good game tonight."

Marco nodded. "Yeah, everybody really showed up tonight. Reiner was unstoppable. And I think Thomas had the best game he's had all season." He gave a contented sigh and stretched out along the metal beam, adjusting the green jersey wadded behind his head for makeshift padding.

Jean smiled, running a hand up his leg. "And you were just eye candy, right?"

"I mean, I did my part." Marco said modestly.

"God, you're so adorable; fuckin' football star, and you're still Mister Modest." Jean poked at his sides and shook his head.

Number seven, quarterback Marco Bodt was literally a perfect human being - honor student, state championship athlete - and really good in bed. Jean still had trouble some days wrapping his brain around the fact that someone so superhuman was his. (And an even harder time keeping that information to himself, despite the fact that it had been _his_ idea to keep things quiet at school in the first place.)

Marco shifted under Jean's stare, like he could _hear_ everything Jean was thinking about him. "I'm nothing special, Jean."

"Says _you,"_ Jean scoffed He brushed sweat dampened hair away from Marco's eyes and looked into them, until they fluttered closed and Marco was leaning forward to kiss him. Jean obliged and hummed happily against his lips, lingering as long as Marco would allow. When Marco pulled away his eyes shined brighter than before, and Jean bit back the giddy smile trying to stretch across his face at the sight. "So how long til Mama Bodt is expecting you home?"

Suddenly very interested in finding a slightly more comfortable place for the two of them to _stretch their legs_ , Jean shuffled to his feet and grinned when Marco stood to follow him, hands resting on Jean's hips as they traipsed through the crossed beams and bricks beneath the bleachers.

"Probably another half hour, at least," Marco said, following Jean out into the open air, and around a wide corner beam toward the steps leading up to the bleachers of the band stands. "Told her I was gonna hang out for a bit. You?"

Jean shrugged one shoulder. "Eh, you know mom. Gotta be home by eleven or she'll send a search party. Guess I'd better make good use of my time." He pulled Marco up the shallow stairs after him, settling on the bottom bench and patting the empty space beside him.

"Speaking of which, I heard you over there _wasting_ time starting trouble with Eren."

_Shit._

Marco had a tendency to chastise Jean for the way he groused at Eren. They'd had more than a few discussions ending in Jean tearing at his own hair and sneering "okay, _mom!_ " at an exasperated Marco. A lecture was the last thing Jean was looking for that night; he rolled his shoulders as if to shrug off the topic entirely.

"Yeah, so?"

Marco heaved a sigh and rubbed his temples. "Why do you always have to pick fights with him, Jean? He's actually a really nice guy; I really don't think he'd give you any trouble if you wouldn't--"

"He just annoys the shit outta me, Marco. I can't help it."

"Right," Marco chuckled, and rolled his eyes. He laid his head on Jean's shoulder and mouthed at the skin there, effectively derailing conversation for a few minutes. He was good at making their arguments one-sided that way. Jean tried to focus, but couldn't bring himself to push Marco away.

"Besides, he - _ah, mmm_ babe, quit it! - he may not start the fights but he always finishes 'em. Was talkin' shit again tonight until Armin tugged his leash." He didn't have to elaborate; Marco knew better than anyone that 'talking shit' equated to ragging on Jean for cheering, and it was the quickest way to piss him off. Marco sighed.

"You know he only says that stuff to get under your skin, Jean. No one else even cares if--"

"Well he's a dick about it, so I don't feel bad saying shit back to him." Jean crossed his arms and sat back against the metal railing. Marco cocked his head to one side, prodding at his elbow.

"Like?"

"Just the usual stuff," Jean shrugged dismissively. He could feel the conversation rolling downhill, fast. _Damn it._

Marco ran his tongue across his top teeth and twisted his mouth to one side. "You were bragging about the butt thing again, weren't you?"

"It's just to piss off Jaeger, babe. You know I'm not serious."

"Yeah, well..." Marco looked down and away. "As much as you talk about it--"

"Marco, _baby--"_ Jean stood and turned to face him before climbing into his lap; "You seriously think I want anything other than what I've got?" He looped arms heavily around Marco's neck, pressing their foreheads together. "Fucking gorgeous, perfect-ass senior quarterback in my backseat, and you think I'd look anywhere else for anything? You're like a Greek god or some shit, Marco. And if you were any better of a person I couldn't stand it. For God's sake, you apologize to people who tackle you. Incurable sweetheart; still don't know why you put up with a salty ass like me." Marco chuckled at that, and the sound vibrated deep in his chest, buzzing under Jean's hands and ringing in his ears like music. He grinned into the kisses he scattered across Marco's face and neck. "Just because no one else knows, doesn't mean I don't think you're the hottest damn thing on this planet. Do you know how hard it is to focus on what's going on with the crowd when you're standing on the sidelines in your uniform all dirty and pouring sweat and shit? Fucking impossible."

Marco laughed, loud enough that it echoed against the metal structures around them in the empty stadium. "Try keeping your mind on plays when the cheer captain looks like his pants were specifically designed to accentuate his _distractions_."

" _Co-captain,_ " Jean grumbled; something bothered him about being captain, even if he shared the title with Krista. Part of that whole 'Jean the Cheerleader' persona that he preferred to leave behind on the track when the game clock ran out. After a moment of sulking, Marco's words circled back around in his mind and he looked back at him, suddenly smirking. "You stare at my ass during games?"

Marco grinned sheepishly. "Only every time I get a chance."

"Good to know," Jean whispered, leaning in to nip at Marco's lip. Marco let him, pressed their bodies closer together and captured more of Jean's mouth. Jean could feel Marco's pulse pick up under his fingers, swirling across Marco's chest and sliding up his neck to tug at his hair.

"God, you look so good," he breathed, biting down on Marco's shoulder gently. They had a rule about hickies during football season, and Jean didn't like remembering how pissed Marco had been the last time he'd broken it. He settled for lapping at salty skin, trailing messy kisses down to his collarbone. "So damn good."

Marco shuddered beneath him and shook his head, trying to scoff through shaking breaths. "Hardly. I'm sweaty and--"

" _Hot_. Don't tell me what I like and don't like, football boy. Although maybe you'd feel a little better without this." He reached for the hem of Marco's undershirt and peeled it up and over Marco's head.

"And you get to keep yours on?" Marco pouted. Jean gave him a lecherous grin and tugged his own shirt off.

"All you had to do was ask, baby."

Jean ran his hands over Marco's bare skin, still a little sticky beneath his fingers from the humidity. Marco pulled Jean roughly by the hips, closer - _impossibly_ closer - until one hand rubbed between his shoulder blades, the other following the curve of his ass through his warm up pants. Jean arched into the touch and sighed, angling Marco's swirling fingers to rub against more sensitive skin, tilting his hips forward and back to press his growing hardness against the bulge he could feel straining in Marco's sweats. Marco rolled his hips up over and over, just the way he knew made Jean desperate - made him wish he was the kind of guy that carried condoms in his pockets, rather than his dash drawer.

It was the attention. Jean had always craved eyes on him, as long as it was within his control. That's why he cheered; he could have the crowd shouting along and clapping for a few hours every Friday night, and then fade back into the halls of his high school until he was ready to do it again. He loved it, even if he hated everything that came along with it. But this was different - there was no drawback to having Marco's eyes on him. There in the stands where hundreds of people had been cheering for Marco a few hours before, now there was only the two of them, and Jean had all of his attention. The focus, the care that Marco put into every touch - the _need_ he could feel in every move of Marco's hands - made Jean hungry for more.

"Want you so bad right now," Jean rasped, grinding himself down into Marco's lap. Marco's breath escaped in soft whines as he tried to form words.

"Can't. Not here."

"My car," Jean breathed between kisses, "- is in the lot. I've got some stuff in there."

"We've gotta be home soon, Jean" Marco sighed. He pulled away to look him in the eye but never stilled his roaming hands. "You know it's not because I don't want to."

Jean made a show of pouting, finally hauling both of his legs to one side and standing up, making a concerted effort not to whine his response. "Fine, but you owe me a post game celebration."

Marco grinned and let Jean pull him to his feet as well, slapping at his butt with the jersey before throwing it back over his shoulder. "Noted."

They pulled their shirts back on and walked close, fingers looped into the waist of each other's pants - one of their many versions of holding hands.

\--

As soon as Jean's car was in sight, he grabbed Marco by the arm and shoved him roughly back against the passenger's side door. He dove forward to scatter sloppy, open-mouthed kisses over anything he could reach, Marco leaning down to mirror him on instinct. They licked and bit at exposed skin until it threatened to bloom with color that would give them away.

Marco groaned into the skin under his lips, feigning feeble attempts to push Jean away from him. "Jean, we shouldn't - people are going to see us."

Jean grinned and stretched up onto his toes to tug at Marco's ear with his teeth, whispering hot across it as he slid a hand over the waistband of his boyfriend's sweats. "S'matter? Afraid your football buddies will give you shit?"

Marco laughed under his breath, shaky from the way Jean's fingers were taunting the skin just above his briefs. "My _football buddies_ already know I like guys, Jean. There's not much more that they could--"

"Wait, _what?_ You told them about us?" Jean stepped back and stared. He could feel his eyes snap open in surprise, and he struggled to rein it in, waiting for an answer.

"Not about us, just about me. At the end of last season. They didn't really care." Marco shrugged like it was the most casual thing in the world, and craned his neck down to continue kissing along Jean's jaw. Still not satisfied, Jean pressed a splayed hand to his chest and pushed him back against the car door for a better look at his face.

"That's... so did you tell them you were _single?!"_

Marco shook his head, clearly unsure of exactly what kind of answer Jean was expecting. "Well, not exactly. I just... didn't wanna _out_ you. I don't really care what anyone knows, but I know you do. You get so worked up over what people think about you cheering, I thought--"

"Well I don't want them thinking you're on the market!" He snatched the jersey from around Marco's neck and slung it over his own. "Gimme that. We're going to Taco Bell before I take you home, and I'm gonna wear it and hope the entire team is there to see it. Mom can just wait up for a little while."

Marco cringed and reached for the shirt. "Jean, it's gross! It needs washed, and you--"

"I don't give a shit. I'm wearing it tonight, and I'm wearing it at fucking school next Friday." He buried his face in the dark green fabric to prove his point; he didn't have to pretend to love the smell of sweat and grass and _Marco_.

"Don't you think people will talk?"

"I _hope_ they talk. I hope they talk about how you're not up for grabs. I already have to watch half the school moon over you every Friday. I'm not missin my chance to wear your name on my back." He tugged the jersey over his head and wriggled into it, huffing at the way it hung slightly looser on his frame than Marco's. "Now," - he turned around and glanced at Marco over his shoulder, flexing his arms to stretch **BODT** across his back - "how stupid do I look?"

Marco stared for a long moment and then swallowed, clearly effected as he chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "H-how about we talk about it _inside_ the car?" he stammered. Jean quirked an eyebrow and grinned, reaching into his pocket to hit the unlock button on the key fob. He opened the passenger's side for Marco and rounded the front, sliding into the driver's seat with a wide smile still on his face. When he reached for the ignition, Marco grabbed his wrist, still staring at Jean's shoulders wrapped in his jersey. "Don't start it yet. I still owe you a 'post game celebration', remember?"

Jean grinned and tapped the handle of his dashboard drawer, and then the overhead light before locking his doors and climbing into Marco's lap again. Marco bit his lip hard as he leaned back to see as much of Jean as he could. He ran hands down Jean's sides and inhaled sharply, like he was trying to breathe the moment in and hold it.

"I think I look pretty good in green," Jean purred, and dragged fingers across Marco's chest and down to the hem of his shirt to peel it off again. "Dontcha think?"

Marco rolled his hips upward, his lips still tight to stifle a moan. "What do _you_ think?" he asked, when he was absolutely sure Jean could feel his hardness through his pants again. Jean traced fingers over his bitten-red lips and grinned, lost in watching Marco watch him. He answered without thinking, still too far immersed in dark brown eyes to hear his own voice.

"I think I love you."

The gravity of what he'd said - considering it was the first time he'd _ever_ used that word, with _anyone_ \- didn't register with him until he saw Marco's perfect, beautiful eyes go wide with shock. He froze, and then shoved the entire side of his hand into his mouth to keep his foot from finding its way there. Marco looked back at him and blinked, slowly letting the inevitable question slide into the air hanging thick between them.

"Do you... mean that? _Really?"_

Jean had a habit of speaking before his brain could catch up to his mouth, and if he was honest, this was a perfect example. The way Marco had lavished him with attention, drank him in with all five senses - it was an intoxicating combination, and Jean was horrible at decision making sober. But this wasn't something he could let himself regret; not when Marco was watching him expectantly, licking his lips anxiously and fidgeting in the most _adorable_ way humanly possible. Jean smiled - wide and confident - back at  him and nodded.

"Believe it, number seven."

"Not a very romantic setting," Marco mused, and then they were both laughing as the tension dissolved between them. Jean leaned down to kiss him again, and after a few minutes - a slower, sweeter passage of time than Jean had ever felt before - Marco hummed into his lips and laughed quietly. "Actually, I take that back. Wrapped up in you - that's about as romantic as it gets."

Jean grinned and tightened his arms around Marco's neck. "Glad you like it. 'Cause these arms are exactly where you're gonna be come Monday morning in the halls at school. And I fucking _dare_ Jaeger or anyone else to say a word to me about it."

" _Jean_..." Marco began, but Jean swallowed the rest of his sentence with a kiss, and wouldn't let him form another until he was calling his mother to apologize for being an hour late.


End file.
